A Thief in the Night by E. W. Hornung (the two towers ebook txt) 📕

“Yet you did hear from her?” he persisted.

“She sent me back my poor presents, without a word,” I said, “if you call that hearing.”

I could not bring myself to own to Raffles that I had given her only books. He asked if I was sure that she had sent them back herself; and that was his last question. My answer was enough for him. And to this day I cannot say whether it was more in relief than in regret that he laid a hand upon my shoulder.

“So you are out of Paradise after all!” said Raffles. “I was not sure, or I should have come round before. Well, Bunny, if they don’t want you there, there’s a little Inferno in the Albany where you will be as welcome as ever.”

And still, with all the magic mischief of his smile, there was that touch of sadness which I was yet to read aright.

Like all the tribe of which I held him head, Raffles professed the liveliest disdain for unwieldy plunder of any description; it might be old Sheffield, or it might be solid silver or gold, but if the thing was not to be concealed about the person, he would none whatever of it. Unlike the rest of us, however, in this as in all else, Raffles would not infrequently allow the acquisitive spirit of the mere collector to silence the dictates of professional prudence. The old oak chests, and even the mahogany wine-cooler, for which he had doubtless paid like an honest citizen, were thus immovable with pieces of crested plate, which he had neither the temerity to use nor the hardihood to melt or sell. He could but gloat over them behind locked doors, as I used to tell him, and at last one afternoon I caught him at it. It was in the year after that of my novitiate, a halcyon period at the Albany, when Raffles left no crib uncracked, and I played second-murderer every time. I had called in response to a telegram in which he stated that he was going out of town, and must say goodbye to me before he went. And I could only think that he was inspired by the same impulse toward the bronzed salvers and the tarnished teapots with which I found him surrounded, until my eyes lit upon the enormous silver-chest into which he was fitting them one by one.

“Allow me, Bunny! I shall take the liberty of locking both doors behind you and putting the key in my pocket,” said Raffles, when he had let me in. “Not that I mean to take you prisoner, my dear fellow; but there are those of us who can turn keys from the outside, though it was never an accomplishment of mine.”

“Not Crawshay again?” I cried, standing still in my hat.

Raffles regarded me with that tantalizing smile of his which might mean nothing, yet which often meant so much; and in a flash I was convinced that our most jealous enemy and dangerous rival, the doyen of an older school, had paid him yet another visit.

“That remains to be seen,” was the measured reply; “and I for one have not set naked eye on the fellow since I saw him off through that window and left myself for dead on this very spot. In fact, I imagined him comfortably back in jail.”

“Not old Crawshay!” said I. “He’s far too good a man to be taken twice. I should call him the very prince of professional cracksmen.”

“Should you?” said Raffles coldly, with as cold an eye looking into mine. “Then you had better prepare to repel princes when I’m gone.”

“But gone where?” I asked, finding a corner for my hat and coat, and helping myself to the comforts of the venerable dresser which was one of our friend’s greatest treasures. “Where is it you are off to, and why are you taking this herd of white elephants with you?”

Raffles bestowed the cachet of his smile on my description of his motley plate. He joined me in one of his favorite cigarettes, only shaking a superior head at his own decanter.

“One question at a time, Bunny,” said he. “In the first place, I am going to have these rooms freshened up with a potful of paint, the electric light, and the telephone you’ve been at me about so long.”

“Good!” I cried. “Then we shall be able to talk to each other day and night!”

“And get overheard and run in for our pains? I shall wait till you are run in, I think,” said Raffles cruelly. “But the rest’s a necessity: not that I love new paint or am pining for electric light, but for reasons which I will just breathe in your private ear, Bunny. You must not try to take them too seriously; but the fact is, there is just the least bit of a twitter against me in this rookery of an Albany. It must have been started by that tame old bird, Policeman Mackenzie; it isn’t very bad as yet, but it needn’t be that to reach my ears. Well, it was open to me either to clear out altogether, and so confirm whatever happened to be in the air, or to go off for a time, under some arrangement which would give the authorities ample excuse for overhauling every inch of my rooms. Which would you have done, Bunny?”

“Cleared out, while I could!” said I devoutly.

“So I should have thought,” rejoined Raffles. “Yet you see the merit of my plan. I shall leave every mortal thing unlocked.”

“Except that,” said I, kicking the huge oak case with the iron bands and clamps, and the baize lining fast disappearing under heavy packages bearing the shapes of urns and candelabra.

“That,” replied Raffles, “is neither to go with me nor to remain here.”

“Then what do you propose to do with it?”

“You have your banking account, and your banker,” he went